


I've Always Been Here

by poetofthebees



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All the stuff I write is like post-S3, Big Dumb Babies, Ficlet, First Kiss, John Whump, John cries, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious John Watson, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, because S4 is not my favorite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetofthebees/pseuds/poetofthebees
Summary: Short fic of John realizing something very obvious.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 122





	I've Always Been Here

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've posted any content, so please let me know what you think and if there's any mistakes/errors. Hope you enjoy!

John shut his door and fell back onto his bed without turning the lights on. He put his palms over his eyes and sighed. He didn’t know if he could do it anymore. He’d been back at Baker Street for six months. Rosie was now nine months old and growing more every day.

John didn’t want to be a single dad. He hadn’t been ready to be a parent in the first place, but he had figured it would all be okay with Mary’s help. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Everything was overwhelming. Everything was new, but it wasn’t exciting like it should’ve been. John felt like a failure as a parent. No, scratch that. He felt like a failure as a man.

Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he felt the burn of shame climbing up his throat. All he could hear was his dad’s voice, slurring and loud, telling him to “be a man.” John rubbed at his eyes, but the tears kept coming. His nose was dripping; he hadn’t cried like this in years. Thank God Mrs. Hudson had said she’d watch Rosie for the night. He didn’t want her to see him break down like this.

There was a quiet knock at the door. “John?” It was Sherlock. His shape was outlined by the dim light from the hallway, but his face was a shadow.

John sat up, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He didn’t say anything to Sherlock. The door closed and the room was mostly dark again. John felt Sherlock sit down next to him.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “John, is there anything I can…do? To help?” His voice sounded so small in that moment and John choked back a sob. He felt sick.

“John, please. Tell me what I can do. I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

John didn’t think before he did it. Some base part of him knew what he needed and would not go without it.

Sherlock remained stiff at first, but relaxed and wrapped his arms around John’s back, his fingers clinging to the damp cotton of his shirt. John pushed his face into Sherlock’s shoulder and cried. He felt raw and limp and childlike. This didn’t feel like sadness. This felt like rebirth, it felt like being eaten alive.

“It’s okay.” Sherlock’s voice brought John out of his thoughts. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” John said, his mouth moving against Sherlock’s dressing gown.

John felt Sherlock’s breath against his ear. “What do you mean?”

John pulled back, wiping his nose with his wrist. He couldn’t look at Sherlock. “With Rosie. With everything. Even—even with you. Nothing feels right. I don’t know what to do.” John’s voice cracked.

Sherlock reached over the bed to turn on the lamp, bathing the room in dull yellow light. John looked him in the eyes finally. Sherlock’s eyebrows were scrunched together; he looked tired. “John, if you’re not comfortable here, I’ll have Mycroft find you another flat. I’ll—”

“No, stop. No. That’s not what’s wrong. I’m fine here, living here. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

Sherlock looked a bit taken aback. “Alright. Then tell me why nothing feels right.”

John’s shoulders went up and down in a little shrug. “Just with Rosie, I feel like I’m a shit dad, I guess. I keep messing up. She deserves more than a dad like me. I guess I never expected I’d be doing this alone.”

“You’re not.” Sherlock looked confused. “Doing this alone, I mean.”

“Sherlock—”

“I know I’m not good at this sort of thing. But I am here. To help. If you want.” He seemed embarrassed; his cheeks tinged pink.

Oh, John thought. Why hadn’t he noticed this all along? Why had he missed this? He thought back now to things Sherlock had done. _Sherlock, coming into his room to soothe Rosie’s cries. Sherlock, smiling at Rosie as she threw her sock at him, babbling incoherently. Sherlock, playing his violin for hours when Rosie was sick and couldn’t sleep. Sherlock, asleep on the couch with Rosie on his chest._ All this time, he had thought he was doing this by himself, but Sherlock had been there in the background, parenting Rosie too.

“John?”

“God, I’ve been an idiot. You have been helping, I just—I didn’t realize it. Sorry, I feel like a massive prick.”

Sherlock looked at the floor. “It’s okay, John. No need to apologize, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No, no I have. You’ve been co-parenting since day one and I’ve been too caught up in self-pity to notice. I should’ve been more appreciative. It probably wasn’t easy letting me come back here with a baby and all. I hope you didn’t feel like you were obligated to take care of her.”

“I love Rosie, why would I feel obligated?”

John felt a smile starting on his face. “You love Rosie?”

Sherlock frowned. He looked insulted. “Of course I do, she’s part of _you_.”

Just like that, something clicked in John’s brain. He felt like his brain had just hit the rewind button on his life with Sherlock. Memories of years of moments flew through his thoughts: the plane, the wedding, the fall, the arguments, the laughter, the longing, the pain.

John felt the tears return to his already wet eyes. He put his arms around Sherlock again, his cheek brushing against Sherlock’s stubble. Sherlock stayed frozen. “Do you mean that?” John asked him.

“Yes. Obviously.”

John pulled back and looked into Sherlock’s eyes, searching. Sherlock looked back, visibly confused. “John, what are you doing?”

John smiled. Everything felt warm and hazy and soft and _right_ , finally. “Can’t you deduce?”

Sherlock huffed, but then his eyes began to widen. “You’re—you want to? John?”

John wet his lips and leaned forward. Sherlock’s lips felt soft against his own. Sherlock kissed back with gentle pressure, but suddenly pulled away, his face carefully composed. “Don’t do this. You’re upset and you want comfort. I’m sorry, but I refuse to be used like that,” Sherlock said quietly and stood up.

John grabbed his wrist before he made it to the door. “God, Sherlock, that’s not what’s happening here!”

Sherlock roughly pulled his wrist away from John. “Then what’s happening? Is this some sort of way you’re trying to ‘appreciate’ me? I know I’ve been obvious with my feelings, but take pity, for God’s sake!”

“No, you idiot! I love you! I’m in love with you! And just now I realized that you _love me back_ ,” John shouted.

Sherlock was staring. “Oh.”

John breathed out a laugh. “Yes, _oh_. Unless—unless I got it wrong?”

Sherlock smiled. It was one of those smiles usually reserved for John and sometimes Rosie. It changed his whole face and seemed to make him light up from within. “You didn’t get it wrong.”

“Thank God,” John said with a sigh of relief. “Thought I was going to have to move out for a second there.” He leaned back on his heels and looked at Sherlock almost shyly. “So, where were we?”

Sherlock stepped forward and took John’s face in his hands. He leaned his head down and brought his lips to John’s chapped ones. It was hesitant and chaste but didn’t lack passion. John felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. John placed his hands around Sherlock’s waist. He moved his lips against Sherlock’s, and it felt like he was being kissed for the first time again. It felt new and bright and warm and wet and—oh, _God_ , Sherlock was putting his tongue in John’s mouth, which he hadn’t expected. Sherlock must’ve sensed John’s surprise and pulled back with a wet noise. His hands stayed on John’s shoulders.

“I must say, John, that was an excellent deduction you made,” Sherlock said, his voice lower than usual.

John spluttered, aroused and dazed. “What? What deduction?”

Sherlock’s cheeks turned a shade darker. “That I love you.”

“Oh.”

“Which I do. And always have. And always will.”

“I—yes, that. Erm,” was all John could reply. He adjusted his pants a bit.

Sherlock leaned in to kiss him just once more. “You should deduce things more often.” Then he wrapped John into a tight embrace. “I’ve waited so long for this, John. I never thought—I was fine the way we were, but I wanted more. I felt so guilty for wanting when I should have been grateful for what I already had.”

John leaned his head into the crook of Sherlock’s neck. “Don’t feel guilty. I felt the same way.”

“We wasted so much time,” Sherlock whispered.

“Don’t worry about time, Sherlock.” John pulled back and looked into his eyes. “We’ve got a lifetime to go.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything and kissed him instead.


End file.
